A Road to Nowhere
by JimJones66
Summary: A former VCPD detective gone dirty is found dead in a warehouse full o' bodies with a self inflicted gunshot to the head. Police overlook facts in the case as more and more questions come. maybe it wasnt "self inflicted", and maybe he was not alone.
1. Prologue: conspiracy or incompetence?

A Road to Nowhere Cause Bang. And with that it was all over, he dropped to his knees, and then to his face.  
  
The massacre in the warehouse had the VCPD baffled. Strewn throughout were dead bodies including members of three different gangs and, most notable of all of them, Rick Brand a former VCPD detective. Many knew he had gone dirty, the bullet in his head and the smoking gun it came from in his hand was only a confirmation of this. Many cops walking by bagging evidence and taking pictures only sadly shook their heads for their former comrade. His body zipped up in a black body bag, no cop was to see him again.  
  
One day the family took his ashes to a small wooden dock not far from his home were he had a fishing boat he'd take out sometimes. They spread his ashes into the waters of his beloved city, ceremoniously floating except little bits of bone left over that sunk. Across the water on another island, watching from a sidewalk was him. He wore a long black duster over a leather jacket with a cheap black suit and thin black tie. Under the jacket was a .45 auto in a shoulder holster. He was here to make sure his job was complete, to watch Brands ashes sprinkled into the crystal clear water, shimmering. Did he have a name? Depended on who you talk to, but his lack of a name spurred into a nickname of sorts; Nanashi, Japanese for "without name".  
  
He smiled, a rare oddity indeed, at the sight he took. It was all over, the longest job of his life was all over. And with that thought, he walked away. Jaywalking across the street to get to his parked car, an old red Sentinel which he used for tailing targets, just when some punk in a Banshee went down the small road going ninety.  
  
The man in the middle of the street never had a chance, for we all know who will win. Nanashi blinked at the sight of the speeding car and could only let out two last words before he was hit:  
"Oh shit." And with the calm bravado that defined his six year career as the best shooter in Vice City, he was killed. The police identified him as Harold Smith because of the fake ID/drivers license in his wallet. They overlooked quite a few facts that were interesting about him though. For instance, he carried a pistol (they found a fake permit to have it concealed along with the license). They could easily tell the drivers' license was fake (otherwise the investigators on the scene were complete morons). And probably most incriminating of all, they had no interest in investigating the speeding vehicle that hit him, they wouldn't listen to witnesses who said it was a sports car. the VCPD in its official statement claimed they had no make of car suspected as of yet, mean while the whole Brand family was stating they saw a white Banshee hit him. This is not to say there was a conspiracy, but it is suspicious to those who look at it. 


	2. Bent Duo

I would like to apologize about characters names, they were created spur of the moment and sound really stupid. Sorry.  
  
1Questions unanswered  
  
The newsletter was thrown carelessly onto the desk. Chip looked down at the pulped paper with headline: Elvis spotted at donut shop in little Havana. Seeing something that ridiculous sparked his anger. Chip grabbed it and threw it back at Buck who grinned wildly.  
  
Chip: get that shit off my desk!  
  
Buck: what, it's funny.  
  
Chip: it's stupid and crazy. You finding humor in it make it no better, maybe even a little worse for that matter.  
  
Buck: so what, I like to read it, they report the stories other papers won't.  
  
Chip: well that's because the other papers want credibility.  
  
Chip Wilson was a ten year veteran of the VCPD homicide division, in other words he was too busy for this.  
  
Buck: well, the reason I'm showing you this is there's something I think you might like to see.  
  
Toby "Buck" Jameson has only been in this division for six years, something his partner Chip won't let him forget.  
  
Chip: what is it?  
  
Buck: this my friend of friends...  
  
He opened the newsletter/paper to page four of eight. Inside was a picture of a dead body and then a editorial about police incompetence in the investigation of a recent warehouse shootout, known as the Brand shootout because of the former detective found dead at the scene.  
  
Chip: so?  
  
Buck: (reading) VCPD homicide has officially made no statement but detective chip Wilson was quoted as saying; "its all very clear cut, I'd say right now there is no need to investigate."  
  
Chip: give me that!  
  
Chip snatched the paper from Bucks hands and read the quote.  
  
Buck: I knew you wouldn't be too happy.  
  
Chip: assholes! I never said that.  
  
Buck: tell em that.  
  
Chip: how do you mean?  
  
Buck: I signed us out to go talk to a witness in a case who doesn't exist; the sheet says we'll be there for two hours. I say we go down to the local print works where this is printed and file a complaint to the editor.  
  
Chip: now that is a good idea..., partner.  
  
Buck: (grinning) now this could be very dangerous, I have a nightstick or two in the car along with two fully loaded riot guns. You know just in case.  
  
Chip: (grinning as well) of course, of course.  
  
Buck: come on, let's ride.  
  
And with that, Chip and Buck threw on their coats, straightened their ties, and went out to the parking lot where they went into an unmarked Admiral with their gear in the back and drove off for the print works in little Havana.  
  
As they rode they listened to flash, the local pop station which played the greatest disco hits since Saturday Night Fever had made them so big. Buck nodded his head a little and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel while Chip ignored it. Buck was they type who could listen to anything from disco to country, while chip would only like the classics. Chip was having a hard time lately, he wasn't fitting into the time period because he couldn't adapt. 1978 has been a transition year for the two who've been partners for three years now. Buck smiled; the print works was in sight.  
  
The Admiral pulled into a concrete lot and the two got out. Buck popped open the trunk.  
  
Buck: here we go! Wanna take the riot guns or the night sticks?  
  
Chip: any reason to suspect they are printing bills in there?  
  
Buck: no just the paper.  
  
Chip: no chance anyone is armed?  
  
Buck: I believe there's only one guy who even works there and makes the paper.  
  
Chip: in other words, no danger.  
  
Buck: yep.  
  
Chip: riot guns.  
  
The two pulled out large 12 gauge shotguns from the trunk. They loaded and pumped them, then closed the trunk and walked up to the front door. Buck tried the handle, it was unlocked. The two bent cops smiled at each other.  
  
Inside the print works, Greg Noorey had been laying out a new issue of his investigative paper when a shotgun blast ripped through his door taking out the handle. The door was then kicked open and two men wearing suits in summer heat burst in. The two had shotguns and screamed that they were not afraid to use them. Greg fainted.  
  
Next chapter: Intimidation 


	3. Intimidation

I hope people enjoy my own personal style of Noir. If you do, I suggest reading Elmore Leonard's "the switch and Andreww Vachss' "the getaway man" because they write much better then me I assure you, they are my writing idols and they are good.  
  
2Intimidation  
  
Greg Noorey awoke from a dream. In this dream he was in a world filled with angels when two demons burst into it and killed everything good and lovely. The dreams of a conspiracy theorist?! He awoke tied to a chair and looked up, standing over him were the two demons from the dream.  
  
Chip looked over at Buck, said: he's waking up.  
  
Buck, to Greg: morning sunshine!  
  
Chip, to Greg: do you write all this bullshit or what?  
  
Greg: who are you guys?  
  
Buck: well my name is Bucked, and boy you are fucked.  
  
Greg: what?  
  
Chip: shut up! You like to write quotes in the paper, don't you?  
  
Greg: yeah sometimes.  
  
Chip: do you ever make up quotes?  
  
Greg: no, I'm a journalist.  
  
Greg could see it, Chips fist flying into Greg's face and the crack of his broken nose.  
  
Buck: ooh, he had that one coming!  
  
Greg: my fucking nose!  
  
Chip: yeah that's right, your fucking nose. And you know what? Anymore bullshit from you and your fucking toes and your fucking knees and then whatever you're packing in between those legs.  
  
Greg: I didn't do anything, I swear to god.  
  
Chip: look, I'm a calm man. Aint I Buck!  
  
Buck: shore am!  
  
Chip, to Greg: I'm not normally a violent man. But my problem...whatever your name is.  
  
Buck: Greg Noorey!  
  
Chip, to Greg: Greg, my problem is I am bullshit intolerant. If I hear bullshit I get angry, and when I get angry I hurt people who bullshit. Now tell me the truth Greg, tell me, did you ever make up a quote in the paper?  
  
Greg: yes, please don't hurt me.  
  
Chip: okay, now we're getting somewhere. You quoted a detective as saying the police didn't have to investigate the deaths in that warehouse shooting. Now did you make that up?  
  
Greg: no.  
  
Chips temper flared again. He grabbed his shotgun lying on a table, pumped it and pointed the barrel right in Greg's face.  
  
Chip: bullshit!  
  
Buck: chip!  
  
He wasn't listening.  
  
Buck: chip!  
  
Chip: what?!  
  
Buck: if you kill him it'd be letting him off easy.  
  
Chip: yeah, you're right.  
  
Greg: oh thank god.  
  
Chip aimed the shotgun at Greg's left ankle and pulled the trigger. Buck raised his eyebrows grinning as Greg screams wildly. Chip wants the screaming asshole to shut up so he took the butt of his shotgun and smacked him in the mouth. Greg and his chair fall on his side, crying but not screaming, stunned and bleeding.  
  
Chip: wrong, you fucking lied. You claimed I said something I didn't. I don't like that. So we are going to throw your ass out in the dumpster out back and destroy all this equipment in here. Then we'll call an ambulance and let them pick you up, and maybe they will be able to sew your foot back on.  
  
Greg: I'll tell them it was you!  
  
Chip: you are the leading conspiracy theorist in the general Vice City area, who the fuck is going to believe you.  
  
Greg: look we can make a deal.  
  
Chip: no we cannot, you are missing a foot now, so I know you don't wanna make a deal, you want your foot back.  
  
Buck: hey! Check this shit out.  
  
Chip walked over to Buck who was standing over the laid out paper for next week. The planned front page had the headline: police Corruption exposed! Detective Chip Wilson says all. Chip whipped around and fired his shotgun at Greg. Greg's head exploded in a huge gush of red. Blood streamed out of his neck all over. Buck even was in semi shock.  
  
Buck: whoa, uh I suggest that no one should fuck with you ever again.  
  
Chip: damn straight. Now get the gas can out of the trunk, we're torching this place.  
  
The fire consumed most of the building leaving an empty shell of a building and no evidence that two detectives were ever there. 


End file.
